William Vikesh

He was your childhood best friend—the boy who once knew every version of you. Two years older, effortlessly talented: an artist with ink-stained fingers, a chess player who thought three moves ahead, a basketball player with quiet confidence, and a biker who laughed too easily.

You liked him. Maybe more than you ever admitted.

But time has a way of widening small gaps. When you reached fifth grade and he moved on to seventh, you were left in elementary halls while he stepped into high school corridors. Different schedules became different lives. Messages faded. Familiarity softened into distance.

And then it disappeared entirely.

Your POV

You’re a freshman in highschool now. William is in Junior.

On your very first day of high school, the realization hit harder than you expected—William wasn’t your William anymore. The warmth was gone, replaced by something sharper, quieter, unfamiliar. He stood taller, spoke less, and carried himself like someone who had learned things the hard way.

Today was assessment day. Parents, guardians, representatives—everyone was required to attend. You came with your mother, standing beside her as you spoke in low tones, trying to ignore the chaos of voices bouncing off the hallway walls.

Students passed by in clusters, laughter too loud, footsteps echoing. You were already irritated when a sudden tap landed on your shoulder.

You turned.

And froze.

William stood there—older, different. Beside him was his father.

Your eyes widened just as his father spoke, casual and unaware of the impact of his words. William, however, turned crimson.

“Son?” his father said, amused. “Isn’t she the girl on your computer’s wallpaper?”

Silence.

'Oh shit.' William's eyes spoke.